Favourite Thing
by Winter Lake
Summary: Rick and Michonne share a light moment and reminisce about their younger selves.


**Favourite Thing**

There were moments when the despair was so much they could barely breathe. Sometimes the horizon was so dark they could only exist by merging with its blackness, not in acceptance but in submission, because the tentative hope of what could have been had the potential to destroy as well as set them free.

Then, there were moments, when all they could do, was laugh.

Within the ruins of an abandoned school, two naked bodies lay entangled on a dusty floor, gleaming with the sweat of freshly made love. Above them stood a large brown desk, with an overturned sign reading 'Principal Jones' lying on its side amidst a mess of scattered papers. A similar sign was bolted to the outside of the door, the bold letters on its plaque being etched away by the claws of the undead. In that moment a throng of them clamoured over the door, their hungry hisses unabated by the giggles emanating from inside.

" _Shut up_!" Michonne scolded through breaths of laughter.

" _You shut up_!" Rick returned, tears of amusement escaping the corners of his eyes.

"They're not gonna go away if we keep making noise like this!"

And they laughed even more, momentarily raising their heads up off the floor to check that the bolts remained intact, and that the heavy leather sofa they had placed in front of the door had not shifted forward.

The world had ended, and they were naked on the floor of a principal's office, in a school overrun by zombies…it was too surreal, too _absurd_ , for them not to laugh.

It was not the first time they disconnected themselves from their reality through laughter, looking at themselves as though they did not inhabit their bodies, living and occupying the same space as the worn warriors who held tenaciously onto each day. Laughter was the only link to the sanity of their prior selves, and they feared the day when they would no longer laugh because it would signify the erasure of a previous world - one in which _normal_ had had meaning.

Gradually, the gurgles of laughter subsided, and they fell into a strange silence, oddly comforted by the incessant sibilance of the walkers just outside the door. They pulled themselves tighter into each other's arms, and lost themselves in each other's eyes. A humbling gratitude flooded their chests, well aware of the lost souls outside the door who would never again unravel the mystery of life simply by looking into the irises of the person they loved.

Eventually, Michonne broke the reverie, her voice soft and far away. "How are we gonna get out of this one then?"

Rick briefly brought his lips to the top of her head. "The way we always do," he assured her, turning his head in the direction of their weapons just a few feet away.

The door suddenly shook, signalling only a matter of minutes before its locks no longer held. Michonne shot Rick an anxious look.

"We still have the Sofa. When the door comes loose we can pick them off one by one from behind the sofa…" When the frown on Michonne's face continued, Rick added, "And if that doesn't work…Well, not many people can say they went to heaven before they died."

Michonne could not help but smile, causing Rick in turn to smile.

"Okay, well…if we start fighting walkers in a school with no clothes on…" She suppressed the laughter rising again in her chest. "Then I may die of laughter long _before_ one of them even bites me."

Rick chuckled, rising up to reach for their scattered clothes. It took him less than thirty seconds to throw on his shirt and jeans. Michonne meanwhile, was still fiddling with the hooks of her bra, only having managed to successfully put on her trousers. He came up behind her to give her a helping hand, a task which he felt seemed to defy some profound entropic law.

"Gosh you're so beautiful," he whispered into her ear, fighting his urge to slide the straps back down her shoulders.

She turned to face him, a soft, appreciative smile twinkling her eyes. " _You're_ beautiful."

Rick shook his head dismissively. He did not mean to, but it was an instinctive reaction, and when Michonne gave him a probing look, he diverted to quickly pulling her into his arms and taking her lips into his. He was slow and tender as he caressed her mouth, and Michonne's arms encircled his neck as he deepened the kiss, burying her hands into his soft brown curls.

"Mmmm…it's not fair," she murmured in between suckling his top lip.

Rick pulled away from her slightly. "What?"

"Your hair." Michonne smiled, twirling her fingers in his rich locks. "It's just so wasted on a man."

Rick grunted playfully, a soft blush under his eyes. "You can _not_ keep your hands out of my hair can you?"

"Why would I want to? It's gorgeous."

Rick shrugged his shoulders, uncomfortable and unsure of what to say.

Michonne's smile widened, her expression a mixture of playfulness and accusation. "Man you _really_ can't take a compliment can you?!"

Rick clenched his jaw, dreading where the conversation was going. The first time he had lied to Michonne, had been when they'd first arrived at Alexandria, and along with Carol and Daryl, had conspired to hide away some weapons. It would also be the last time he ever lied to her. Despite his reticence to voice what bothered him, he knew it would bother him even more not to tell her. He _wanted_ to tell her, he wanted to tell her everything about himself…But there was something about talking to Michonne that made things seem so… _real_ all of a sudden. Maybe it was the way she looked at him, her sagacious eyes free of judgment and full of acceptance…Or the way she always listened, understanding him even when he was wrong, hearing him even when he could not speak.

He hesitated for a moment, losing himself in a far-away memory. "I don't know…"

He tried unsuccessfully to word his thoughts coherently. "…Maybe if you saw my yearbook photo you'd know why," he managed eventually.

Michonne's face lit up. "Oh really now? Man I'd love to see your yearbook photo…"

Rick shook his head. "Let's see now…very spotty…bright blue braces, glasses as thick as goggles…I promise you – you wouldn't wanna see that."

She began to chuckle. "Aww I bet you were so cute."

He shook his head. "The truth is, I had really low self-esteem at school…I was teased a lot…I was always the smallest…the shortest…the slowest…. "

"The smartest?" Michonne chimed in.

Rick let out a dry laugh. "No one really cared about that in high school. If it wasn't for Shane…" His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, trying to dispense the sudden heaviness which tightened his chest.

He only had good memories of Shane at high school… Shane had made high school bearable. He had defended him, he had protected him, he had been his brother. It was those memories that had pierced Rick the most when he had killed him… Equally, it was those memories which had caused him to ignore the fact that his little girl wasn't truly his, even though he had already known this deep in his heart. The fact only became real when he had told Michonne… His friend's betrayal only truly crushed him when he had uttered Shane's name for the first time since all that had passed… It had done nothing to change how much he loved his daughter, but it had done everything to change how he felt about his dead friend. Shane had slept with his wife then tried to kill him…But then Rick had been the one to kill _him_ , so how could he be angry at his dead friend?

But when he had told Michonne everything, the hurt and anger became real. He could no longer lie to himself, because the woman he loved was an extension of him.

One day he would share with Michonne those memories of better times. When he was ready to forgive Shane in his heart, he would tell her about the version of his friend who made him realise he could stand up for himself…The version of the man who had inspired him to become a cop.

Michonne placed a hand on the lower side of his face, her large brown eyes swollen with empathy. Rick let his chin fall into her hand. "Yeah, so now you know why I find it hard to take compliments," he said, looking down at the ground.

Was it because Shane had thought him weak in his final moments, that the memories of being teased about his looks suddenly stung him? Shane who had taught him to be strong? He had never really thought back to his time in high school until then. Heck, he had never really _cared_ , until then. It was a long time ago - _it was high school_. His mother used to tell him that true beauty came from within, and he agreed.

"Sorry," he found himself saying. "Kids were stupid at that age, and shallow - I know that. I don't even think about it…But I suppose it affected me more than I knew."

Michonne nodded understandingly. She reached up and embraced him. "You know, when I was really little, I hated the way I looked…I was really lucky to have a friend, who always used to make me say at least one thing I liked about myself – just one thing. She would make me repeat – _today, my favourite thing about myself is_ … and I would have to name a feature. Eventually, I started to love everything about myself. I know I wasn't perfect – no one is. But _I_ thought I was, and that's all that mattered."

Rick kissed her cheek. "You're still perfect," he whispered in her ear.

Michonne tightened her embrace. "So are you."

Rick stiffened. Once again, he did not mean to. He believed her - she showed him every night they became one, when she made him feel like the luckiest man in the world.

"Sorry," He apologised. "You're right, I really can't take a compliment."

"Well…how about we try and change that?"

Rick cocked his head to the side. "Now isn't really the time," he protested, attempting to change the subject by pulling away from her arms.

" _Come on_ …say one positive thing about yourself."

He laughed, the blush underneath his eyes deepening.

"Michonne, this really isn't important."

"Come on! Just one thing. One feature. What's your favourite thing about yourself?"

"These things don't matter anymore Michonne," he said hurriedly, helping her pull her top down from over her head.

"Of course they do."

Rick let out a sigh of exasperation, proceeding to hand Michonne her sword before reaching for his gun.

"Rick."

He looked at her, her tone commanding his full attention. "Of course it matters. _You matter_. Now say it. Come on, what's your favourite thing about yourself?"

Rick looked up at the ceiling with mock despair, smiling coyly as he readied his colt python.

Finally, he turned to meet her gaze. He saw a way out of the conversation - one which did not involve a lie.

" _You_ ," he said simply, a hopeless look in his eyes.


End file.
